The morning went well, and to be honest, I was pretty nervous about it. I haven't preached, nor much less done any sort of formal public speaking, in about five years, if memory serves me (though half the time it doesn't). I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to remember what I wanted to say, or that I'd be so anxious that my face would blossom redder than usual, or that the congregation would be bored out of their minds. As I drove down the winding country roads to this podunk church in eastern Ohio, I prayed that God would calm frayed nerves, that He would grant me the words to say, and that He would spare me from looking like a bumbling fool (two out of three wouldn't be bad!).
I posted the "sermon manuscript" last night. This is my sermon-writing process: first I throw together an outline, usually over a cup of coffee with a Bible beside me; then I go through the outline, talking free-form, feeling-out the flow and seeing what works and what doesn't. After that, I type out the rough draft, print it out, and each time I practice through the sermon, I make little changes in the margins. The end result is a final draft, usually remarkably different from the rough draft. I either take the manuscript or the outline to the pulpit, depending on how comfortable I am with the material. By that point, I usually don't need the manuscript: I know where the sermon is going, I know what I want to say, and I know where I want to say it. When I worked at Forest Lake Christian Church in the summer of 2008, the manuscripts were invaluable, since I would print out several copies so that the older members of the congregation with hearing problems could take it home and read over it if they liked. It was an idea on a whim, and it really caught: the manuscripts were consumed. Anyways, my preaching style tends to be informal rather than formal. Sometimes this can be good, sometimes it can be not so good. I didn't know how this morning would go, especially since I hadn't preached in a LONG time.
The church was small, maybe about forty people: an average-sized church in an old colonial-esque building nestling in a rippled carpet of rolling woodlands. When I got up to preach, I had absolutely no anxiety, my face remained its usual red hue without turning the color of a sunburnt turnip, and I preached the sermon with only a few glances at the manuscript. I preached for about fifty minutes on Romans 8 and 2 Corinthians 5, and the time just flew by. The experience reminded me how much I love preaching, how it energizes me and excites me. Some people are terrified of public speaking, but somehow it thrills me. I say "somehow" because, as an introvert, I tremble at the thought of talking with a small group of people; but take that group of four and swell it to forty, or even into the hundreds, and it goes from being terrifying to exhilarating. I'm an odd creature. Unrelated, here's a t-shirt I want to buy and wear wherever I go:
What I enjoyed most this morning was seeing the faces of the younger folk in the crowd: they way they leaned forward in their seats, eager to hear the Word preached; the way they consumed every word I said; the way their faces glowed when I took well-known passages and infused them with historical depth that shed, at least for them, hitherto-unknown light on well-worn passages. It's those faces of eagerness, of anticipation, those few who are hungry for scripture, that makes preaching so worthwhile.
I don't know if I'll hear back from the church. The elders all seemed to love the message and like me; but you can never tell if they're being genuine or just being nice to the guest preacher. Regardless, this morning confirmed for me yet again what I know, in the marrow of my bones, to be true: this is what I want to do.
This is what quickens my pulse.
This is what inflames my heart with passion.
This is what makes me feel alive like nothing else does.
Also, it's good to be reminded that God can use someone as broken as me to give His words to His people. Jessie was right; she usually is. "Damn straight!" Tony says.
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